


Another Fine Mess

by LinnetMelody



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-15
Updated: 2010-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinnetMelody/pseuds/LinnetMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Sam's fault and he knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Fine Mess

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble written for Ara/Jen for the prompt "another fine mess."

Out of all the ideas Sam’s had over the years -- from filling out college applications to hiding Dean’s car keys to cling-wrapping Dad’s toilet -- this one, he realized, had turned out to be the worst.

Dean had griped about doing the job before they’d even come in-state, and Sam had argued that the timing was right for the ghost to make another appearance, and yes, they had to dig him up now, did Dean want another ten people to disappear in the mountains before spring thaw? But the fact that Sam was insisting seemed to be unusual enough to quiet Dean after more than the first token protests.

At least, Sam had thought they’d only been token protests. Turns out that when you’re still trying to get back into hunting after years of “city life,” there are a few key things to remember about how to go about it. The first of which is never to piss off a voodoo priestess while naked and in arm's reach. The second of which would be to always try to dig up bodies in the warm months.

The cemetery ground had been hardened from the winter, the melting snow only making the top few inches a half-frozen slush before threatening to break their shovels if proceeding any farther. Dean had gleefully volunteered for first watch, pacing the perimeter and eyeballing the gnarled, twisted trees just beyond the lamplight. Sam had bent to the digging with a will, managing to get only about two feet down before the muscles in his back spasmed in protest. Dean, with a faux-considerate look on his face and a gleam in his eye, then offered to spell him.

There was no manifestation -- thank Christ, because his arms hurt so badly he wasn’t sure he could raise the shotgun to fend anything off -- and the flames from the burning coffin radiated welcome heat.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Dean stated matter-of-factly, once the fire died down to smoldering embers. “You ready to fill it back in, now?” He grinned, dimples winking and green eyes shining with malicious enjoyment.

“…I hate you.” Sam groaned.

It was nearly dawn by the time they returned to the motel, Sam’s mind focusing only on the pounding heated relief that the shower would offer his abused shoulders. Dean took one look at his determined, longing face and chuckled. “I’mma go get breakfast. You want something?”

“Whatever,” Sam mumbled, lost in his shirt. “I’ll even take doughnuts.”

And that is how Sam came to the most horrible, wretched moment of his existence. He had emerged from the bathroom to find Dean sitting at the table, an open box of Krispy Kremes in front of him, moaning in bliss. There was a purple smudge of blueberry at the corner of his mouth, his eyes were closed, and his face looked like … it was …. Well, it looked an awful lot like his face had looked that one time Sam had spied upon him and Lisa Harris. Back when Dean had first been discovering girls and Sam had been discovering that he didn’t like how seeing Dean with a woman made him feel.

This was worse. And it had been his idea.

Powdered sugar sprinkled the tabletop, making a fine white mess around Dean’s elbows and down the front of his shirt. Sam swallowed, spit all dried up, and prayed to reach the chair before Dean opened his eyes and saw. Sam dropped into the seat and made sure the table was blocking Dean’s view of his lap.

“There’s a benefit to working as hard as we do, you know,” Dean mumbled around his mouthful of sugar. His eyes were still closed, but he nudged the box over to Sam. “We need lots of calories to make up for what we burn during the night.”

Sam swallowed once more, visions dancing in his brain of another strenuous night-time activity, before saying “Is that what you tell yourself? Geez, man, how many of these things did you get?”

“I got enough.” Dean finally looked at him, smirking and covered with sweat and sweet. Sam stifled a whimper. _It’s your own fault, you told him doughnuts would be fine, just sit there and --_

Dean reached out to touch one white-dusted fingertip to Sam‘s face. “Gotta keep our strength up, Sammy.“ He stood, moving closer still, sugary breath gusting past Sam’s cheek and into his ear. “See, I’m not planning on the night being over. Just. Yet.” And he licked the powdered sugar back up.

Sam yelped, or squeaked, or maybe it was a high girly squealing noise, he wasn’t quite sure, and Dean walked past him toward the bed., noisily licking his fingers one by one. “I might even have enough left in me for a backrub. You game?”

Sam stood up so fast he knocked the chair over. Okay, so maybe that was not the most horrible wretched moment in Sam’s life. But next time, he’s buying, and they're all gonna be glazed.


End file.
